Green Bird
by Megan Oakley
Summary: A woman confronts Spike Spiegel about his existance before he goes into the Cathedral to confront Vicious. Spoilers for Episode Five: Ballad of Fallen Angels. Short.


_Green Bird_

It wasn't raining on this side of the street.

I stared at the aged cathedral in revered wonder, wondering why where I was standing was as dry as a monk's wine cup. The wind and rain were dashing viciously around the stubborn stone columns and flying buttresses, desecrating their once-stunning grandeur with the slow thwart of time. My late husband always said it looked like an elderly woman surrounded by lively and demanding children, forever biting at her heels. It had been years since I'd heard the bells being rung; I figured the people of Mars just wanted to forget about God.

The church was on a precipitous hill that overlooked the city—and few, if any, folks breathed here anymore. Whatever you could loot from a church had been plundered, and now the once glorious cathedral—modeled from Notre Dame back on Earth, my husband said—was beginning to be even scarce of crows. I'd done my best when I came to keep the paths free from overgrowth, but dead trees will stay dead, and there's not much you want to do when everyone's forgotten about it.

I'd come over to inspect a few cars and a zift-craft that landed about half an hour ago. Not that I was a nosy person—it just wasn't, well, _normal_ for such a large gathering of people to meet on this block. Men in black emerged from the cars, dressed for somebody's funeral perhaps. Would've made sense, too, until I saw the pistols and machine guns they carried. Still partly true—_making_ somebody's funeral. A group of crows dithered and cawed around the top of the church boisterously, proving my theory. Over the years, and with my experiences, crows have always been able to smell death.

A few men dragged a woman out of a limo at gunpoint. "You know…I'm worth quite a lot of money alive." She smiled seductively. That got her a barrel in the mouth. One last person emerged from the vehicle, I remember—a man with white hair, and a hard, drawn face. So dreadful was the aura around him the crows squirmed about even more and eventually flew away. The man grabbed the lady's shoulder and the mysterious assembly progressed inside.

You can't really tell time in a place as dead as this, so I don't know how long it was before the cowboy came. I don't know why I spoke to him. Maybe I was curious about what was happening, maybe I wasn't. I think it was his eyes. I found myself wandering over to him as he climbed out of his ship. "Hell of a place for a party, cowboy." I said. He looked up, and paused checking his artillery. I don't know much about guns or anything like that, but he looked as loaded as the other guys. He frowned slightly. "I'd leave here if I were you." A lamppost flickered.

"They didn't even see me, cowboy. Couldn't hurt me anyway." I replied, shaking my head. I doubted he'd understand, and looking into those strange, red eyes, I think I was right. He moved away and started for the church's hollow doorways. I continued after him, stepping into the rain. "This isn't the place to end it, cowboy."

He turned, and stared at me indirectly. "How would you know?"

"You're not alive." I said slowly.

He frowned, perhaps his hurry was forgotten. Even the rain seem to stall for a moment. "I'm not dead, am I?" I caught another glimpse of the haunting red eyes from underneath the green mat that was his hair.

"If you wake up, I'll be gone, cowboy." I explained, running a hand through my own hair.

"I'll never wake up." He replied.

"Of course. Dead people can't wake up. But you and I are still here, aren't we?" I paused, trying to word it carefully. It had been years since I had a conversation with someone. "I can tell you're not too happy about being alive here, but don't go shootin' yourself just yet. You're not ready to be free yet."

"Free?" He asked softly.

"Yeah. It's what my late husband said before he left me for good." I also became a little quieter. "Freedom. Do you believe in ghosts cowboy?"

"No." He answered, looking up into the rain.

"You should."

He was quiet for a while. "Freedom?" He repeated, looking at me directly.

I couldn't help but stare into those eyes. They did more than draw you in—they fed you, fed you with something beautiful, something you've never experienced in the world before, and something you'd never feel again. I think it was at least fifteen minutes before I realized that he had gone.


End file.
